you can find lost things in the dark. in the corner, shards from an old picture frame. a familiar body as a narrow rumpling of the sheets. the press of lips and the trails of fingertips, illuminated in the window. looking up at the stars -- i remember sharing the stars together. i don't want to believe it, but yes, those are still our bright little lights, no matter how many years apart we find ourselves tonight.

. . .

note to self: casinos are fun but bad. drinking is okay, but in moderation. karaoke is not your thing. don't stare too long at the service. you have to wake for work on mondays. melancholia is poopy diarrhea.